Chapter 1: Pure. Utter. Insanity.

Aria often wondered if the Hero was actually the Demon Lord. As he stood surrounded by corpses, blood dripping from his blade, the thought didn’t seem all that far-fetched. Crimson spatters decorated his plate armor, a few even darkening his blond hair. Others would say he looked like any soldier on a battlefield, but the faint smile on his lips made all the difference to Aria. In her mind it was a mark toward the demonic rather than the heroic. 

Of course, the Hero wasn't the only one running around killing demonic creatures. The dusty ground reverberated from a series of detonations as the Mage set off a chain of spells somewhere behind Aria. Her nose twitched as the scent of burnt goblin drifted toward her. She was sick of the smell. Turning away, she headed to higher ground to get a clearer understanding of the skirmish. And to get away from the stench. 

The sand under her feet shifted slightly as she climbed up the river bank, out of the dried bottom. Sand, cracked ground, and the twisted branches of a few dried trees speckled the surrounding area. A few burned, caught aflame by the Mage’s spells. Others were charred remains, the wind from his most recent blasts having blown them out. His cloak however, barely shifted as he set loose another fireball on the few remaining goblins gathered between him and the Warrior. At their feet lay at least twenty corpses, either smoldering or in bits, their black blood staining the reddish ground. 

The goblins had attempted an ambush, but it had failed spectacularly thanks to their lack of hygiene. Their stench had sent Aria’s stomach reeling. The Cleric though had keeled over, retching up the remains of their meager breakfast. Useless as usual, Aria had thought. And she wasn't wrong. The Cleric was still curled up in the fetal position despite the fights going on around him. He had remained unscathed solely because the Hero had positioned himself near him, wiping out any approaching goblins with a slash of his blade. It was nothing short of pathetic. 

As she watched the battles below, a lone goblin scampered up the bank toward her. A full on frontal assault, uphill, with a dagger. Aria sighed, almost feeling sorry for the demon. Through layers of dust, she could see black blood oozing through cracks in his skin and open sores, dark with infection. She had complained about the goblins’ hygiene, but what could they honestly do without any water? She patted her hip, searching for the flute she had swiped weeks before from the temple. It wasn’t there. She blinked, cursed, and began running. 

Down the embankment she went, weaving through corpses and avoiding stray sparks from the Mage’s fireballs. She had forgotten that the Cleric had confiscated the instrument after getting wacked over the head with it in her escape attempt that morning. Which left her defenseless. On the Demonic Peninsula. Insanity. 

Gasping, Aria almost tumbled over, inhaling the full stink of the barbequed goblin she had just hopped over. Goddess, she was going to be sick. But the screech of her pursuer sent her sprinting forward. To the Hero she went, only to find him bent over howling with laughter as he watched her debacle. Hero my ass! Turning a hard right, she veered toward the Warrior. He was farther away but at least he would be of some help. Or so she hoped.

Aria would never know. A thunderous crack and a rush of heat had her throwing herself on the ground. A flash of light rushing over her to explode further away. She didn’t look behind her as she sat up, swiping dirt from her face and palms. She knew full well the goblin had been burnt to a crisp in a blast of lighting. It was one of the Mage’s showier spells. With a groan she heaved herself up and slowly made her way towards the Cleric. By Goddess she needed her flute. She would never let him get his hands on it again! 

Carefully she made her way back across part of the dried up riverbed till she reached the Cleric’s curled up form. “Get up, the fight’s over.”

At her feet, the blue robed figure turned over, belly up. He reminded her of a fish ready for gutting. What kind of fool exposes his stomach to the enemy? He groaned, “It still stinks.” He paused, gagging, “It’s even worse now.”

She shrugged, silently agreeing with him and glanced over as the Mage and Warrior made their way over to the two of them. “Complain to the Mage, cooking them sure didn't help.” Another groan met her comment as did dry heaving. She quickly backed away, unwilling to be subjected to yet another offensive smell. Back at the temple the Cleric has always seemed dignified. He was the High Priest’s Heir after all; the greatest receptacle of divine power after the old coot. The man before her though was a far cry from the one she had caught glimpses of throughout the years. He has my flute though, so what does that make me?

“Aria.” 

She peered down at his pale outstretched hand. No, I’m not helping you up. She stepped further back, only to stop when catching a glimpse of her flute from within his robes. He had simply tucked it into his belt. She pursed her lips before reaching out and tugging him up.

The Cleric stumbled forward on his feet, bumping into her. The strength of her pull surprised him. He didn’t notice a thing as her other hand gently removed the long metal instrument from his possession and tucked it within the folds of her own cloak. It would hopefully be a while before he noticed it was missing. And maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to get away before he notices, Aria thought to herself.  Or maybe not… The Hero’s eyes met hers as she looked away from the Cleric, a small smile on his lips. Aria really hated his smiles. Another mark for Demon Lord. No Hero would find my misery amusing. 

As all the members of the Hero’s party gathered, Aria could only curse her situation. She hadn’t run away from the temple just to join some insane quest to defeat the Demon Lord. No map. Barely any provisions. Four people against all the demons on the Peninsula. No, she was not including herself in that. And all because of some prophecy from centuries ago. She knew first hand that the temple was kooky, but why had the royal family supported this? Or the citizens? But deep down she knew the answers to those. No one wanted to face the demons, and as attacks on the boarding villages had grown more frequent the people had wanted a solution. And so, they turned to the Hero and the prophecy; the savior whom even the Goddess supported. All the royal family had to do was add in a Court Mage to show their support. The temple of course sent along a Cleric, the heir to their very own High Priest. The Skoldir, renown for their demon slaying, had even sent along a Warrior. That was the Hero’s Party, destined to bring about an era of peace. Aria glanced at the bodies around her. Peace, huh? 

She was jolted out of her musings by a gentle tug on her sleeve. The Warrior stood to her right, scarred hand already retreating away from her. His head was tilted slightly as if to ask if she was alright. Aria shrugged, but appreciated him checking on her. He was the only one who didn’t actively make her feel like her life was at risk. 

“Any injuries,” asked the Cleric, still a little green in the face. 

“None,” reported the Mage, lips pursed in distaste at the idea that a goblin could harm him. 

The Warrior shook his head. 

“And you Aria?” Asked the Hero, mirth underlacing his words. “You took quite a tumble.”

The Mage let out a snort as Aria gritted her teeth. “I’m fine,” she hissed. “No thanks to you.” 

“You could always sing,” he pointed out as he finally sheathed his sword. “It’s not like you were ever in any real danger.” 

The rest of the Party nodded along as Aria just continued to glare at the Hero. He hadn’t technically said anything wrong, but she refused to sing. She would never do that again. It’s what had gotten her into this mess in the first place; her singing. With those thoughts her eyes darted to the Cleric. He was the one who would need to sing. On cue, a gentle humming filled the air around the group, slowly turning into a short hymn as the Cleric’s voice activated his divine power. A faint glow coated the Party, purifying them of any possible miasma the goblins may have left on them or brought to the area. Despite being useless in a fight, the Cleric was undoubtedly the most important member of the Party. Without him the miasma of the Demonic Peninsula would drive them insane just like it had the resident demons. 

The singing was abruptly cut off however. The Cleric bent over, caught in a coughing fit, sprays of red blood coating the ground before him. It quickly began mixing with the black blood already there. 

Aria blinked, sighed, and cursed again. They were on the Demonic Peninsula. A land covered in demons and miasma. And their only way to stay sane coughed up blood any time he used divine power. If he ever had to purify them from a serious infection he might just keel over and die. And then they would all die. Pure. Utter. Insanity.